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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28576704">crucial point one day becomes a crime</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kneworder/pseuds/kneworder'>kneworder</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i've got the spirit (lose the feeling) - ben oneshots [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(the horror kills some rabbits), Animal Death, Ben Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Ben Hargreeves-centric, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, No Incest, Reginald Hargreeves die in a hole challenge, child endangerment, cws for:, the horror</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:54:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28576704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kneworder/pseuds/kneworder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Managing the Horror is a balancing act. </p><p>Ben learns this early. "<br/>--<br/>Ben, at ages seven, ten, and twelve, confronted with his powers and reluctance to use them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hargreeves &amp; Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i've got the spirit (lose the feeling) - ben oneshots [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116902</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>crucial point one day becomes a crime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from Age of Consent by New Order</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Managing the Horror is a balancing act. </p><p>Ben learns this early. </p><p>“For your training, we will use rabbits,” Reginald says, disembodied voice echoing around the small space. “A number have been released into this very room: your job is to determine exactly how many without moving from your position. Precision is key.” A pause. “Twenty minutes should be sufficient time to accomplish this task. Begin.” </p><p>Ben inhales. Sweaty palms brush the front of his blazer, frantic eyes dart around the pitch dark training room. He knows he can’t find them all, knows what his father wants him to do. </p><p>Knowledge isn’t enough to crush hope. </p><p>Ben shuts his eyes tight, counts to thirty, opens them. His vision doesn’t improve. </p><p>Ben takes a shuddering breath. </p><p>“Fourteen,” he calls.</p><p>“Guesswork is not permissible, Number Six. How are you ever to learn to control your monster if you keep it caged?” </p><p>Ben tugs at the hem of his sweater vest. The Horror shudders at the movement, sending a wave of nausea through him. The Horror doesn’t understand human speech, Ben knows, but he still whispers, “Please, don’t hurt them.” The Horror only squirms in response. </p><p>Ben pulls his vest up and unbuttons the bottom of his shirt carefully. </p><p>When he closes his eyes this time, it has nothing to do with sight and everything to do with the unsettling feeling of the monster’s tentacles crawling through his portal. Tentatively, they feel their way into the room, unfurling and creeping across the floor. Ben feels their sensory input like it’s his own limbs recoiling at the cold tile. </p><p>A jolt goes through Ben. A stuttering heartbeat, much faster than his own, pulses under the Horror’s touch. <em> One </em> , he thinks, <em> Now move along </em>. He tries to push the thought outwards, to will the monster to understand.</p><p>The heartbeat picks up. </p><p><em> Move along </em>, he begs, but the Horror lifts the rabbit and pulls it towards its other tentacles. As one retracts, it discovers another two stuttering pulses next to each other. </p><p>“Three!” Ben shouts, praying that’s all of them, that this is enough. </p><p>“<em> Precision </em>, Number Six!” </p><p>A sob forces its way out of Ben’s throat. The rabbits’ heartbeats blend together, a monotonous thrumming that matches the blood rushing in his ears. “Four! Five!” he cries, “I don’t know!” </p><p><em> Please, please, let them go and move along, </em> Ben pleads.</p><p>The Horror tenses, and for one, breathless moment, Ben thinks it’s listening. </p><p>Then a sharp tugging rips through his stomach and the first rabbit is torn in half. </p><p>He could be screaming, he could be unconscious -- Ben’s mind goes white with warring terror and bloodlust as the Horror takes control, pulses building and pounding a furious hole in his skull, rushing, rushing, <em> four, five, six </em>--</p><p>“How many rabbits?” </p><p>Ben blinks. He’s sitting on the edge of a cot, feet dangling off the side.</p><p>Reginald is glaring down at him, light flaring off his monocle in a way that obscures his right eye entirely. Grace stands next to him, collecting a cloth and a basin of water at the infirmary sink. She approaches Ben with her vapid, artificial smile “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper. </p><p>Ben startles when she presses the damp rag to his face. He looks down and barely suppresses a gag -- his entire front is sticky with blood. Excess water runs down his cheek and drips onto his collar. Idly, Ben’s fingers brush at it. They come away red. </p><p>“Number Six!” Reginald barks. Ben inhales sharply. “How many rabbits?” </p><p>Ben tries to think back, his memories a confusing mess of blurred motion. He opens his mouth, but no words come out -- the taste of metal on his tongue steals them away. This time, he isn’t able to keep from retching. </p><p>“Oh, dear,” Grace tuts, rubbing his back.</p><p>“Disappointing,” Reginald intones. </p><p>Ben’s eyes burn. He focuses on the feeling of Grace’s lukewarm hand on his blazer, tries to speak again. “I… ” he starts. His voice is rough, he coughs once to clear his throat. “Seven?” </p><p>Reginald’s silence tells him exactly how accurate his guess is. Ben folds in on himself in shame, shuddering. Uncomfortable warmth overtakes his skin in waves, still not enough to keep him from feeling cold. The Horror is still, its appetite long sated. </p><p>“With a power such as yours,” his father begins, “control is imperative. You must hold power over your monster, or it will wield it over you.” </p><p>Ben nods. His head is spinning. </p><p>“Without precision, Number Six…” </p><p>The world grays at the edges. </p><p>“... you are nothing but a blunt instrument.” </p><p>Ben falls. </p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Five laughs as he pulls Ben off the mat. “You’re too slow,” he complains, but there’s no heat to it. </p><p>Ben huffs. “No, <em> you’re </em> too fast,” he grouses, making a show of dusting himself off. “How am I supposed to hit you if you keep blinking away from my punches?” </p><p>Five shrugs. “Learn to stop telegraphing them.” </p><p>Ben shakes his head and follows his brother out of the sparring ring to stand in front of their father. Ben fidgets to the scratch of pen on paper as Reginald makes his final notes on a clipboard. Carefully, their father sets down the pen. “Number Five,” he says, and Ben sees his brother stand up straighter in his peripheral, “You rely far too much on your spatial jumps. Against a well-trained adversary, you will easily tire yourself out.” </p><p>Five’s jaw clenches, but he keeps quiet. </p><p>“Number Six,” Reginald says, and it’s Ben’s turn to jump to attention, “Conversely, your refusal to utilize the Horror puts you at a serious disadvantage. Your self-imposed handicap could mean your doom in a true fight.” </p><p>Ben nods. Ignores the way the Horror shifts under his shirt. </p><p>Reginald gives them both a long calculating look, then calls, “Dismissed. Number One, Number Two, take positions.” </p><p>Luther and Diego scramble into the ring while Five turns and stalks away. Ben moves to follow him, jogging a bit to catch up. “How long d’ya think they’ll last this time?” he asks. Their most obstinate brothers have a penchant for drawn out fights. Their record stands at a little over an hour, Luther’s stamina finally edging out Diego’s furious determination to win in a match that left them both laid up in the infirmary for days. </p><p>“Why don’t you ever let the Horror out when we train?” Five demands, ignoring Ben’s attempt at conversation entirely. </p><p>Ben falters. Five’s face is unreadable, brows drawn and mouth set. “I-- What do you mean?” Ben sputters, avoiding the question. </p><p>“Well, it’s like you said,” Five answers, turning down the last hall to the library, “Whenever I use my powers, you can’t hit me. So why don’t you ever use yours?” </p><p>Ben thinks of stuttering heartbeats, of <em> twelve, it was twelve </em>rabbits torn to shreds. Feels deer’s blood cooling on his knee socks, hears the mewling of newly orphaned wolf pups mercilessly cut out. </p><p>Thinks of his brother laughing. </p><p>“The Horror would just get in the way,” he says. </p><p>Five stops, caught in the library’s threshold. Ben holds in a sigh of relief -- he knows that face. It’s the expression Five always gets when confronted with a particularly tricky math problem, or when Vanya won’t tell him what Luther did to make her cry. It’s the frustrated expression that says Five knows something is wrong, but also knows he can’t solve it. </p><p>“Ben…” he starts, sharp green eyes narrowed.  </p><p>“Seriously,” Ben cuts him off. “The Horror gets enough training. I’d rather learn to fight on my own power.” </p><p>Five’s hands clench once, twice, a nervous echo of his power. Ben holds his breath until Five shoves a hand through his hair and marches into the library, calling, “I think Grace reshelved that Steinbeck you were reading, which one was it?” behind him. </p><p>Ben exhales and puts a hand over his stomach, the Horror pushing against his touch. </p><p><em> I don’t want to kill you, </em> he thinks. <em> I don’t want to kill </em>anyone.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Ben becomes a killer when he is twelve years old. </p><p>It’s their fifth mission. He was able to get away with hanging back and playing lookout with Klaus for the first few, putting up with his brother’s endless stream of chatter and keeping the Horror in check. Ben knows he’s a last resort, and he wouldn’t want to be anything else. </p><p>But suddenly there are three bullets in Luther’s left side and Allison’s too panicked to rumor the would-be bank robbers away from them. Suddenly Five can’t jump anymore and Diego is out of knives. Suddenly Klaus and Ben are the only members of the Umbrella Academy left unscathed. </p><p>“Just our luck, huh!” Klaus pants. He and Ben are pressed up against a marble pillar, gunfire crackling behind them. Klaus laughs, high and panicky, pupils blown with terror. Moonlight filtering in from the bank’s high windows paints his brother’s face in stark shadows. “I mean, we were doing so well! We were doing great! Those jewel thieves last week didn’t even know what hit ‘em! And now this!” </p><p>Ben digs his nails into his palm and looks around the pillar. His siblings can’t go on much longer. </p><p>The men in the lobby are already overwhelming them, shooting at anything that moves, and there are even more gathering money from the open bank vault. </p><p>Everyone else has a limit. Luther gets slow, Diego runs out of projectiles. Five gets tired, Allison’s rumors become less and less convincing. Even Klaus becomes unable to conjure after a while, though he rarely uses that aspect of his abilities enough to hit that wall. It’s only Ben, it’s only the Horror, who is unstoppable. Nothing can pin them down, not bullets, not words, not exhaustion. If the Horror has a limit, Ben doesn’t want to discover it. </p><p>The issue with the Horror has never been how long it can last, but how much damage it will do. </p><p>Last resort. </p><p>“Klaus,” Ben says, soft enough he’s sure his brother will miss it. </p><p>Instead, Klaus whips his head around to look at him, a manic smile plastered on his face. “Got any bright ideas, Benny-boy?” he says. </p><p>Ben does have a bright idea. He <em> hates </em>his bright idea, but it’s all he has. He sets his jaw. “Get dad,” he says, the bitter taste of resignation coloring his words. </p><p>Klaus freezes. “Wh--?” he starts, but an especially loud gunshot makes them both jump. Someone screams. It sounds suspiciously like Diego. </p><p>“It’s training, right? The mission? He should be close. He can call someone, or do something,” Ben says. He doesn’t say, <em> “He’ll need to be here to clean up,” </em> or <em> “He’s the only one who might be able to stop it.”  </em></p><p>Klaus is looking at him like he’s lost his mind. “What about--?” </p><p>“Don’t worry about me. I have a plan.” </p><p>He disentangles his fingers from where they’ve buried themselves in Klaus’ blazer, presses them against his stomach instead. </p><p>Klaus follows Ben’s movement. He inhales sharply and swallows hard. “Y-Yeah, okay,” Klaus says, nodding. “Okay, I’ll get dad.” </p><p>And Ben is alone. </p><p>Except--</p><p>(The Horror writhes under his shaking hand.)</p><p>Ben is never really alone. </p><p><em> Control </em>, he thinks, and darts towards his best chance of minimizing damage: the open vault. </p><p>“<em> Allison </em> !” he shouts, jumping over a man’s prone form on the marble floor. The remaining men turn, glancing around wildly at the sound of his voice -- even with her power drained, his sister is perfectly capable of pushing people in a direction they’re already leaning towards. “ <em> Make them follow me! </em>” </p><p>Allison is kneeling with her back to the teller’s desk, her jacket balled up and pressed against Luther’s side. Her head snaps up at his shout, confusion losing out to years of training as she screams “<em> I heard a rumor you followed Six! </em>” </p><p>Ben barely hears Five shout his name, doesn’t even notice Allison immediately try to retract the rumor, because the second he’s in the vault, all he can hear is his own heartbeat. The three men inside freeze at the sight of him. Ben pays them no mind. </p><p>He pushes up his vest and rips his shirt open just as the other five enter. </p><p>The Horror shoots through his portal with so much force, Ben is thrown backwards, slamming into the far wall. One of the men panics, shooting wildly and taking out the watery ceiling lights. Darkness envelops them. </p><p>And suddenly, Ben is seven years old and standing in a training room, the Horror feeling its way across a cold, hard floor in search of prey. </p><p>
  <em> How many rabbits, Number Six?  </em>
</p><p>Ben inhales. Counts.</p><p>“Eight,” he whispers. </p><p> </p><p>Five tells him the screaming was over almost as soon as it started. That when they got into the vault, he was practically unrecognizable under all the blood. That dad didn’t show up for another half hour, that Allison had to rumor him into applying pressure to the bullet hole through Diego’s leg because Five was too exhausted to do it alone, that Luther almost bled out. “I’m glad you don’t remember it,” Five says, squeezing his hands into fists and glaring a hole in Ben’s carpet. “It was awful.” </p><p>It’s Vanya who tells him that Reginald made them wait, that Klaus cried and pulled at their father’s jacket and got nowhere. That she had to keep time, marking the minutes on Reginald’s stopwatch like they were doing another speed test. That he heard every gunshot and still did nothing, then spent the entire debriefing berating them for what they did wrong. </p><p>Ben should hate him for it. He knows Five does.</p><p>But in the end, it’s Reginald who tells him, “Splendid work, Number Six.” It’s Reginald who says, “You have displayed remarkable progress,” and “Without your hard decision and quick thinking, the mission would have been a failure.” </p><p>It shouldn’t mean anything. </p><p>Ben hates that it means everything.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>(Managing the Horror is a balancing act. Control and chaos, precision and carnage. </p><p>The desire for approval and the desire to survive. </p><p>And time, time changes nothing just as it changes everything, as the balance gets tipped so far in one direction the other end of the scale snaps off. </p><p>It’s four years later that Ben watches his blood mingle with that of criminals and wonders if he’s really so different, if men following their darkest impulses are any worse than him following his father’s orders. </p><p>The Horror rages. The Horror kills. The Horror doesn’t have a limit. </p><p>Ben does. </p><p>One last time, he becomes a vessel for violence, passive against his monster, disengaged even as it turns on him. </p><p>The heartbeat picks up. The heartbeat slows. The heartbeat stops. </p><p>No one holds him when he dies. No one can get close enough.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've been vaguing abt this fic for months and got tired of staring at the google doc so I figured I'd post what I have rather than agonize over something I'll never have the time or motivation to fully realize. maybe one day I'll turn the whole Ben childhood arc I had planned into a series, but until then, I hope this stands on its own well enough.<br/>thanks for reading!!<br/>come talk to me on <a href="https://kneworder.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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